Kill Kenny
by 1220McCormick
Summary: Eric Cartman was always willing to go to any lengths to get what he wanted. And unfortunately for Kenny McCormick, he had something Cartman wanted. Not slash. One-sided Candy. Character death.


This is sort of a Candy story, but not fluffy. Like, not at all. It's more…twisted. And if you're reading this because you love Cartman, I feel I should warn you, this story features Cartman at his worst. This is one of those destroy-a-character-I-love-but-hope-the-closing-line-is-payoff-enough type stories. So, yeah, consider yourself warned.

Warnings: Character death (three guesses who) and insane Cartman.

I don't own South Park.

**Kill Kenny**

It wasn't right. It wasn't right that Kenny had her. After so many men—including Cartman himself—had tried and failed to obtain her, it just wasn't right that Kenny McCormick of all people had managed to win her over.

He didn't deserve her. There was no way a dirty little shit like Kenny could deserve her. Sure, he was Cartman's best friend—or at least the closest thing he had to a real friend. But he was also the poorest, most miserable little fuck-up in South Park. And yet, he'd gotten her.

This simply wouldn't do.

It was no secret that Eric Cartman was a selfish bastard. He was known for going to any lengths to get what he wanted. And unfortunately for Kenny, Cartman wanted Wendy Testaburger.

Luring him in was easy enough. There were two things Kenny couldn't resist. Actually, scratch that. There were a lot of things Kenny couldn't resist. But beer and porn were two big ones, and Cartman's mother's house had an abundance of both. So when he told Kenny that his mother was away on a so-called "business trip" and that he'd be house sitting for a while, the hoodrat was all over the offer.

Cartman had no clue why his mother had Rohypnol in her medicine cabinet. He'd learned a long time ago not to ask questions when it came to that sort of thing, because Mrs. Cartman tended to be a little too honest with her answers. But whatever the reason for its being there, Cartman was grateful, because a generous dose of the drug in Kenny's drink put his friend into a sedative state in a mere twenty minutes.

He decided that strangulation would be the cleanest way to go about it. He didn't really feel guilty about it as he did it. Knocked out on ruffies, Kenny most likely didn't feel a thing. And as for disposing of the body, well, that was what the meat grinder was for. For being on sale at Cabela's for a mere forty dollars, Cartman got some good use out of it.

Kenny went missing all the time, so it took about a week for people to really start to worry. Wendy was the first to fear that something was wrong. When other friends grew anxious as well, Cartman put on a decent façade. Kenny was his best friend after all, and people would definitely become suspicious of him if he didn't act like he was worried. But he knew Kenny was safe. Safely bagged and frozen in his mother's deep freeze. When the cops started searching, Cartman would relocate the body to Kyle's freezer. They'd know right away that the meat wasn't exactly kosher. But that could wait. For now, Cartman's main concern was comforting the missing man's girlfriend.

"He's never been gone this long," Wendy whispered, clutching the untouched mug of cocoa Cartman had made for her. "Where could he be, Eric?"

"I'm worried too," Cartman lied, placing a comforting hand on her knee.

She gave him a weak smile. "Thanks for letting me stay here, Eric. My apartment is so empty without Kenny around. I couldn't stand to stare at those walls any longer."

"It's no problem," Cartman assured her. "We'll get through this together."

"You must be as terrified as I am," Wendy murmured. Cartman almost laughed. "He's your best friend."

"I don't know what I'll do if they don't find him soon."

Wendy sighed, placing her mug on the coffee table in front of them. "You're being way too nice to me, Eric."

Cartman sucked in a harsh breath. She couldn't know he was faking it, could she? "I-I am?"

Wendy nodded, standing up. "I'm being so selfish, letting you take care of me this way. He's your best friend. You need to be comforted too."

He let out his breath. "Oh. I-I guess."

"Just sit back," she said, patting his shoulder affectionately. "I'll make you some dinner."

Cartman grinned as Wendy sauntered off. She was definitely right where she belonged now. Out of Kenny's crappy apartment and in his mother's kitchen making him dinner.

* * *

That night, Cartman dreamt of Wendy. He dreamt he was in bed with her, just watching her sleep. Perhaps it was cliché, but there was a foreign part of his brain that thought she looked like an angel when she slept. A really foreign part of his brain. Almost as if it was actually someone else thinking it.

The mattress they laid on was old and tattered, and one spring dug into his back in the worst way. But he was content to lie there and watch Wendy sleep. He reached out an arm—a surprisingly pale and thin arm—out to her to push a lock of black hair away from her smiling face.

The dream was vivid. Almost like a memory, except Cartman had never actually slept in Wendy's bed, and he didn't have skinny, porcelain-looking arms. It was more like a wish than a memory, he decided when he woke.

* * *

He felt strange the next day. There was an emotion in his chest that felt like it didn't belong there. He wondered briefly if it could be guilt, but he dismissed the idea almost immediately. Was it fear? Probably not. Love? Well…perhaps. Whatever it was, it certainly didn't belong in Eric Cartman's body.

And then, as he watched Wendy's robed figure shuffle out from the bathroom and join him on his mother's couch, he heard it.

Well, he didn't _hear_ it, exactly. It was more like he thought it. Imagined it, maybe.

_You fucker_.

That was all. Two words in his head that sounded eerily like Kenny's voice.

"Wendy?" Cartman said nervously.

The young woman looked up at him, a strange sort of glow on her face. "I have a good feeling about today," she told him. "He's gonna come back today. I just know it."

"W-Wendy?" Cartman repeated, trying desperately to fight off that foreign feeling in his chest. "What was in that casserole you made last night?"

Wendy shrugged. "Tater tots. Um, green beans. Some of that beef that was in your mom's freezer."

Cartman's stomach clenched. "Did you eat any of that?"

She shook her head.

_She's a vegetarian, fatass_, the voice in his head informed him. _Been trying to convert me too, but no dice._

"Y-you don't hear that, do you?"

Wendy tilted her head slightly to the side. "Hear what, Eric?"

Cartman shook his head, jumping to his feet and rushing to the bathroom.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck," he muttered to himself, twisting the knob on the sink and splashing some cold water in his face. He clutched the porcelain countertop as he stared at his reflection in the mirror, shaking, scared, and dripping with icy water.

"You asshole," he spat at his reflection. Except he wasn't the one saying it. It was his voice, and it was coming from his mouth, but they weren't his words. "It's bad enough you killed me, but did you have to fucking _eat_ me afterwards?"

* * *

This is soooo weird. I don't write stuff like this. Ever.

So, I guess if you haven't watched Ladder to Heaven, the ending won't make any sense to you. And if you have watched it, which I certainly hope you have, maybe your sense of humor is twisted enough that you thought this was funny and you don't think I'm completely fucked up. So, yeah, uh, please review.

Oh, and do you think the categories and rating are appropriate?


End file.
